


Ticket To The Moon

by Kuja



Series: Impossible [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Blood, Brainwashing, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Gender Issues, Identity Issues, Inequality, Injury, M/M, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Multi, No Smut, Omega Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Power Imbalance, Sassy Steve Rogers, Seriously Non-Standard ABO, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Torture, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, grumpy steve rogers, non-standard abo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-11-04 17:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17902406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuja/pseuds/Kuja
Summary: Steve is settling in as best he can to the 21st century, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Equality laws are way behind the times, he can't reveal the truth of his status in public, and the other Avengers have a betting pool on his lack of a social life.The soldier doesn't understand. He completes his missions, but it's never enough. He sees faces and places from the corner of his eye. He has no words, but he lashes out.The soldier is a broken thing. He obeys, but it's never enough. Voices taunt him. Visions haunt him. He cannot speak, but his mind calls out.Someone answers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story of the Impossible series, but you don't need to have read the first part to understand this one. 
> 
> I'm not used to writing ABO or anything at all like this to be honest, but in for a penny as they say! This is very much non-standard ABO - focus is mainly on social/inequality/gender issues, so no smut and no psychic bonding I'm afraid. 
> 
> Details of the universe will be explained and more tags added as we go, but if you want to ask anything then feel free to get technical in the comments. :)
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name by ELO

****

**Ticket To The Moon**

  


This is a tale of two situations  
Mutual appreciation

Away from narrow preconception  
Avoiding conflict hypertension

Non-phobic word aerobic

This was my domain  
'Til someone stole my name

**\- Super Furry Animals, Juxtaposed With U**

 

**Chapter 1**

 

_The soldier woke to the feeling of cold metal and chains. He was bound tightly to the wall in an unfamiliar concrete room. The lingering pain in his head and jaw told him that his handlers had administered correction recently. Presumably he had not performed a mission to the required standard, though he could not remember any details. He would do better this time._

_The strange surroundings didn’t bother the soldier, and neither did the restraints. While he couldn’t recall an exact scenario that matched the one in which he found himself, a sense of familiarity hung in the air that only grew stronger when a stern-looking man approached him carefully._

_The soldier didn’t recognise the man at first, but after a few seconds some of the fragments that made up his decayed mind slotted into place and told him that this was Herr Strucker, a handler - and that he was to be obeyed without question. Strucker watched the soldier from a safe distance, pacing back and forth out of arm’s reach despite the chains and cuffs. The soldier approved, though a part of him wished the man would stand a little closer._

_‘Soldier, I have a mission for you.’ Strucker said in clipped German._

_‘Ready to obey.’ The soldier replied in kind, his subconscious following protocol by rote._

_‘Secure package and transport to this stronghold. Return within ten hours. Any resistance to be met with lethal force; no exceptions. No backup. No witnesses. More details when you are prepped.’_

_‘Understood.’ The soldier nodded, and two armed guards came forward at the handler’s signal to release the chains and drop him to the floor._

_He remained limp and pliant as the guards circled him on the ground, swiftly releasing the cuffs until he could get carefully to his feet, half a dozen rifles pointed at his head. This was standard procedure, though he felt a pang of disappointment when he realised they all avoided touching him. He didn’t understand where this strange longing came from, so he crushed it swiftly under thoughts of the mission to come._

_‘Get him ready.’_

_The guards motioned the soldier to follow and he obeyed with eyes downcast, walking along an underground corridor to a smaller room filled with lockers. Once there he was given permission to arm himself and get into full tac gear, the guards checking the fit of his mask and replacing the filters before they fed him and gave him his shots._

_He sat patiently as they worked, using the time to flip through the file provided on the Hydra base he was to visit. The transfer was at first glance uncomplicated - small package, only 200 miles to cover - but the soldier knew his very presence meant trouble. The soldier was a killer, and would never be used for a routine transport mission; it wasn’t his function. Hydra obviously expected heavy resistance and casualties at some point in the next ten hours, though what precise form the threat would take was unclear. The soldier added three grenades and an extra knife to his belt and thought about how easy people were to kill._

*

_The soldier clung to the underside of the speeding truck like an armoured insect as another burst of gunfire peppered through the steel by his feet. He made to shift to the side and a gout of flame came from above to block his way, forcing him to shuffle back into a central position just behind the cab, metal fingers gripping a support beam as he returned fire through the walls and floor with the submachine gun in his right hand. He heard faint screams over the din and grinned viciously, teeth gleaming white behind his mask. These people might have a lot of guns but they were still no match for him._

__

__

_The soldier took a second to check that the case on his back was secure, then waited for a pause in the weapons fire before throwing himself violently to the right, hooking his hands onto the edge of the truck and propelling himself up and out, feet first. Heavy combat boots connected solidly with a dangling figure and the soldier twisted in midair, using momentum to lock his thighs around the unlucky man’s torso and wrenching the flamethrower from his grip, crushing it to shrapnel in his metal fist. He gripped the man’s neck, glaring into bulging terrified eyes for a fraction of a second, then with his other hand the soldier tore the man out of his harness and threw the body over the side of the mountain road like a ragdoll. He braced himself against the frame, pressed his fingers deeper into the side of the truck for purchase and began to climb._

_Six hours to go, and there were three vehicles and a helicopter left in pursuit. The soldier wasn’t sure how this group had discovered the location of the package or the impending transfer, but it was obvious they had been briefed on his involvement and were waiting for him to leave the facility. He was dealing with them efficiently as instructed, but he had been somewhat limited by the instructions to protect the case he carried at all costs. The soldier was not used to being so careful._

_The helicopter tailing him had so far refused to attack, not willing to risk their allies on the ground. Now in the wake of the huge number of deaths during the pursuit they must have had a change of heart, because the soldier caught sight of a muzzle flash from the open door of the helicopter and he flattened his body to the roof of the truck just as a fresh rain of gunfire flew towards him._

_The truck took a tight corner and the soldier quickly jumped to his feet on the cab, shooting the driver in the head from above. He felt the vehicle start to veer off course, and before the helicopter could target him again he leapt across to the car pulling up in the lane alongside, not looking back as the truck smashed into the barrier behind him with a sickening crunch and screech of metal._

_A crack, and a bullet from someone inside the car grazed the soldier’s jaw, damaging the mask and causing him to growl as his head snapped to the side. He crouched and fired through the side windows with the submachine gun, then switched to a pistol to put a few more bullets into the roof for good measure._

_A few well placed shots at the pilot of the helicopter made it back off slightly, and the soldier got smoothly to his feet as the car below him began to drift, taking a grenade from his belt. He activated it and held on for a couple of seconds before pitching it as hard as he could at the engine of the helicopter, shielding his face from the resulting explosion as he leapt clear to the side of the road, landing hard. Red-hot shrapnel found its way into the meat of the soldier’s right arm and flank but he ignored it - the injuries weren’t deep enough to limit mobility and the case on his back was more important._

_The final trailing vehicle didn’t stand a chance, unable to brake in time before colliding with the twisted remains of car and helicopter in a cloud of metal and fire. The soldier walked calmly back through the wreckage, shooting everyone he could find before checking the case for a final time and disappearing into the woods, walking in the direction of the Hydra stronghold. Six hours left. He would be there in three._

*

__  
**Don’t touch me!**  


__

_The soldier snarled and his fist slammed through the wall inches from the face of a terrified man in a lab coat, his pale and trembling hands still frozen in the act of reaching out toward’s the soldier’s face._

__

__

_The soldier was furious, his body flooded with adrenaline. He tried to focus, but he couldn’t remember even entering the room, or what exactly had caused him to disobey the instructions of his handlers and lash out. This bothered him, but before he could analyse the situation further, a cluster of stun batons caught him under the ribs and he fell to the ground, bodies piling on top of him to dig further shocks into the soft tissues of his neck and thighs as several guards tried to cuff him. His muscles spasmed painfully but he arched his back and jackknifed upwards, throwing most of the guards across the room where they lay groaning; no longer a threat._

_His breathing came loud and harsh in his ears through the mask, eyes wide and taught as he scanned the room. More guards by the door trained batons and rifles in his direction but they radiated anxiety and the soldier knew they dared not come any closer, instead waiting for him to surrender or make the first move so they could retaliate. He backed into a corner underneath some shelves, growling; his fists clenching and unclenching in an irregular staccato rhythm._

_The soldier wasn’t sure exactly where he was or what was happening. All he knew was the smoke in his mind and fire on his skin. He turned his head rapidly from side to side - searching for something he couldn’t name - and the guards opposite swallowed hard and pressed themselves against the walls, keeping their distance. Part of him made the logical observation that they mustn’t want to seriously hurt him or they would have done so already, but the rest of his thoughts were like broken glass and his body burned and he couldn’t _breathe.__

_Just for an instant, he thought he saw a small man with messy blond hair at the edge of his field of vision, his expression sad and lost. The soldier blinked rapidly and shook his head, but while the man disappeared like the click of a switch, the confused jumble in his head only got louder and more insistent._

_One of the armed guards opposite looked away for a fraction of a second - but that was all the opportunity the soldier needed. He charged with a roar, caving the man’s face in with a fist even as he dragged the now lifeless body around as a shield between himself and the other guards, bloody fingers snaking out to relieve a woman of her baton. He swung it in a brutal arc, cracking her across the jaw and doubling back in the same motion to punch it through the chest of someone trying to sneak up behind him._

_His body moved in tandem with anger and adrenaline, fear and frustration. The guards kept coming but he tore through them like a nightmare born of rage, crushing throats and snapping limbs as he chased a feeling he didn’t understand. Iron and terror filled his nostrils and kissed the back of his throat. It was only by chance that he detected a slight hissing sound in his ears, and by he time he realised that it came from the mask locked around his mouth and nose it was too late, his limbs already growing sluggish and thoughts drowning in molasses._

_**Let me go!** _

_The desperation clawing at his insides finally voiced its need just as his legs failed him and he staggered, collapsing onto the pile of broken bodies. He felt his mind slipping away into the smoke and he scrabbled frantically for the retreating shadows as his vision went dark._

__

_**What am I doing here? Who am I?** _

*

‘Did you find anything?’

Natasha didn’t move from her crouch in the road amongst the smoking debris, but she heard the question and shook her head. Steve walked closer, leaning down beside her to peer inside the mangled remains of a truck cab. There were two bodies inside. It was impossible to tell who they might once have been - burned and blackened flesh pulled taught over their grinning skulls, and scraps of clothing bubbled and melted on their shrunken bodies. Even with the horrific level of tissue damage he could still make out the perfect bullet holes in the centre of their foreheads. He said a silent prayer of thanks that the burning tires and spilled fuel made it almost impossible to smell anything else, and made an effort not to cough as he checked around the sides of the cab.

‘This was professional and took some level of skill.’ Steve said, taking in the whole scene. ‘A large convoy including aircraft completely destroyed and scattered over a 40 mile stretch of highway. No witnesses.’

‘Execution-style killing of everyone we found so far.’ Natasha agreed, wrinkling her nose as a particularly large plume of toxic smoke drifted in their direction.

They both covered their faces and turned away from the stinging smoke as it was fanned by the wind. Steve straightened up and again tried to take in the destruction all around them. He didn’t know how SHIELD had found out about this incident in rural Austria, but they hadn’t even had time for a briefing before being summarily pushed onto a quinjet with a vague map of the area and instructions to preserve and contain all evidence left behind. 

The only information they had so far was that a large number of vehicles had been damaged, and that the occupants had been transporting illegal weapons that were said to be very volatile. 

That didn’t come close to explaining the extra bullet holes in all the bodies, or the trail of devastation through miles of beautiful forest. Also, if there were originally piles of weapons in the vehicles - where were they now?

Steve rubbed his forehead in frustration, eyes flicking across the scene again as he tried to make the jumbled pieces of evidence fit together. Nothing made sense. The fire had done a good job at destroying almost everything, and the condition of the bodies meant that they would be going the DNA route for identification at this rate. 

Natasha broke him out of his thoughts by leaning in close and giving a little wave to get his attention, before gesturing to the side of the closest truck. Most of the signage and paint had been burned away, but there were deep indents all the way up the metal panel, as if something had struck it with a sledgehammer.

‘They used something to try to break into the truck?’ Steve asked, trying to see what had caught Natasha’s eye. Was it just his imagination, or did she look concerned?

‘Something with _fingers.’_ She said. ‘You can see the grip marks.’

When Steve got closer he could see she was right. The holes were literally _hand_ holds, a spread of fingers clearly pushed into the metal and working their way up towards the roof in a regular pattern.

‘They climbed up the side.’ Steve murmured. ‘That’s not possible. Who could do this?’

 _‘You_ could.’ Natasha said pointedly, turning back to the handprints before he could reply. 

‘That’s strange,’ she continued without waiting for his response. ‘The marks on the left side are much deeper than the right. Some of them have torn all the way through.

Steve was going to complain that _he_ wouldn’t punch holes in a truck in order to simply climb it, but he saw the slight tension lines in Natasha’s face and bit his tongue. Whatever happened here had rattled her, and he had learned over the past couple of years that not many things unnerved Natasha Romanov. 

They had slowly become used to working with each other as a pair, and eventually with other units within SHIELD. While they still fit best with the Avengers - as best as a motley group of people with unusual abilities and circumstances could - they had developed somewhat of a regular routine just between themselves in New York and lately Washington DC; at least, when the whole world wasn’t in peril anyway.

Despite their bond Natasha always let Steve have his space, for which he was eternally grateful. He had made no move to form bonds or pair with anyone else, and though he was sure she was very aware of his total lack of a personal life she never once brought it up, even though Steve knew it was a common debate topic among the other Avengers. Tony made no secret of the fact that money was always changing hands on the subject, but of course without any scent markers to guide them they had to wait for Steve to tell them outright and put them out of their misery, and _that_ was never going to happen.

Steve thought they might assume his reluctance to pair came from the fact that he still had to conceal his status in public, and that was certainly a big part of it - it was very difficult to meet people when most weren’t even allowed the full picture of who you are - but the truth was that Steve just hadn’t found anyone remotely compatible. Even after living in the 21st century for years it was like everything still didn’t fit quite right, and whereas in the 30’s and 40’s he had occasionally met those whose company he found pleasant and comforting, now everyone’s scents grated and the ‘otherness’ of the environment worked against him, preventing him from ever feeling like he could truly relax.

Part of him knew on some level that a lot of this was exacerbated by his own stubbornness, and that he wasn’t doing himself any favours staying alone - that if he made an effort to adapt to the scents and fashions of the 21st century he would surely find people he could pair and bond with - but he just couldn’t bring himself to take that step. It felt like a betrayal of all those he held dear, whose faces and scents and voices he held on to in his mind but faded into softness with each passing year. The only remains were a few photographs and his own memories, and Steve wasn’t ready to push those aside just yet.

‘Do you know who or what did this?’ Steve asked Natasha, as she held out a hand to brush gloved fingertips gently over the deep gouges in the metal.

‘A theory.’ She said shortly, again not meeting his eyes. ‘I’ll let you know if we find more evidence to confirm it.’

‘Understood.’ Steve said, dropping the subject.

He knew that if Natasha had any concrete information that would help them she would let him know, but she hated speculation and refused to take stock in anything without proof. After learning a little of her background at the hands of the KGB, Steve couldn’t blame her. It must be an awful thing to find that everything you ever knew was built on manipulations and twisting of the truth. Now if it made Natasha extra wary, well, Steve couldn’t complain. It often saved their lives.

‘Captain! Ms Romanov!’ 

The voice carried over from the far side of the wreckage, and both Steve and Natasha’s heads snapped around at the sudden interruption. A small group of agents at a bend in the road had stopped their evidence collecting and instead were clustered round some of the air team who had arrived with a cargo pallet. A young alpha woman waved them over, instructing the rest of the group to disperse as she paced back and forth on the asphalt with her arms tightly crossed, pent-up energy simmering just below the surface as she waited for them to reach her.

‘Sophia Delgado, leading STRIKE air support. We just got this from search area C.’ She said by way of an introduction, straightening the lines of her uniform in the classic fidget and trying and failing not to sniff too obviously when Steve and Natasha got close enough. Steve just gave her a bland stare, used to the confusion people sometimes displayed when they couldn’t scent him. Natasha however made no effort to hide her exasperation, rolling her eyes and tensing her body with a quiet warning growl. Sophia gulped, taking an involuntary step back before she checked herself and stopped, body wavering on the edge between fight and flight.

‘Erm, I - I mean, we thought you should see this as soon as possible. It’s the only intact evidence we have so far.’ She said, stammering and ducking her head as she registered the very real threat in Natasha’s posture and gave ground.

Steve took pity on Sophia and dismissed her with a nod of thanks before Natasha could respond further. She wisely retreated to a safe distance, keeping her gaze fixed on Natasha and rubbing her wrists and hands in an instinctive self-soothing motion. Natasha glared at her for a few seconds more but followed Steve’s lead and stalked onward to look at the objects laid out on a thick tarpaulin. 

‘Was that really necessary?’ Steve asked her quietly when they were out of earshot.

‘That team has worked with us before.’ Natasha said with a huff. ‘She should know better by now. Amateurs.’

‘Don’t be too hard on her. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it _is_ strange; the way we are.’ Steve said. ‘Besides you and me I don’t know anyone who uses the same amount of masking and blockers all the time. Everyone’s on high alert, and we probably took her by surprise.’

‘You’re a regular saint, Rogers,’ Natasha said. ‘But I still think she was trying to figure us out, and I don’t like it. You know why we mask, and it’s certainly not for STRIKE’s benefit.’

‘You’ll always be a mystery, Natasha, don’t worry. Even to me.’ Steve said, teasing. He laid a gentle hand on her arm and she looked at him in surprise, eyes lighting up with pleasure. He rarely touched her beyond what what was necessary for a bond, and though she was never offended he knew she would have been happy with more.

‘Don’t tell me the great Captain America knows all my secrets?’ She smiled back, laying a hand over his own briefly as a thank you before pulling away again. 

‘Apart from your irrational love of pineapple on pizza? Never.’ Steve said with a laugh. ‘Also I’m sure that if I did find out anything worthwhile you’d have to kill me.’

Without their scent markers they had limited ways to offer comfort, but these little moments of contact between them never meant anything less to Steve, and he didn’t think Natasha thought so either.

‘Of course.’ Natasha agreed, showing teeth in a grin. ‘Now let’s get this over with so I can put my back to these damned mountains and have a shower. Ideally in that order.’

They both turned to look at the pallet, hearts beating just a little faster when they saw what it was that had the agents so wound up. Several unburned chunks of metal lay in a loose circle, along with car seats, clothing and even a battered toolbox. The most obvious and exciting thing though was definitely the very dead but intact man in the centre of the tarpaulin, body just beginning to smell of decay and show signs of rigor mortis. He might have only been dead a few hours, and had obviously been overlooked in the otherwise total destruction of evidence. Apart from the relatively good condition of the corpse, there was something else unusual about it that both Steve and Natasha noticed straight away.

‘No bullet holes.’ Natasha said, impressed.

‘Nope, looks like he died when he fell off the mountainside. Look at all the fractures. Head injury too.’

‘How did he get down there? Where was he found?’ This last Natasha directed loudly to Sophia, who was flitting around the periphery of the area like a caged canary and dosing them with the bitter scent of fear like it was going out of style. 

‘About a mile or so back.’ She called over, managing to keep her voice pretty steady and strong despite the increase in volume. Steve mentally gave her a few points to her credit for that. ‘We found a few scraps of metal scattered along that stretch of road and the body parallel to that about a hundred feet down the mountain.’

‘So he either fell from one of the vehicles, or…’ Steve began, thinking.

‘- Or someone pushed him over the side.’ Natasha said, pointing to discoloured skin around the man’s neck. ‘More finger marks, and I don’t think there was enough time for whoever did this to fully strangle him. They just threw him out of the way and made sure he wouldn’t be getting up again.’

Natasha began to turn the body clinically back and forth in her gloved hands, skittering over the livid purple fingermarks with a frown of concentration. Steve couldn’t figure out exactly what she was checking for, but he stayed quiet and let her work. After few moments she placed the body back down and took a deep breath, eyes slipping shut in a sigh. Steve could have sworn she went to press a hand to her left side briefly before changing her mind and getting quickly to her feet, but he knew better than to ask. 

‘We need to call Fury. Now.’ She said, her eyes hard.

‘What is it?’

‘There’s something he’s not telling us. There’s no way this was a normal weapons transport.’

‘What do you mean?’ Stave asked.

‘You know Fury wouldn’t have sent us here if he thought it was simple terrorism, which means he already knows or suspects what is really going on; and if I’m right - and the Winter Soldier was sent to kill everyone involved - then it involves something much more dangerous than just weapons.’

 _‘The_ Winter Soldier? One person did all this?’ Steve said, incredulous.

‘He’s the world’s greatest assassin; a ghost story. Responsible for dozens of high-profile deaths in the last fifty years. No one has ever been able to confirm his identity, or even if he actually exists.’ Natasha paused, pursing her lips in a tight line. ‘I saw him once, a long time ago. He shot me. His left arm is metal; an advanced prosthetic.’

‘The marks on that truck. You think…?’ Steve said slowly, understanding. Natasha nodded, her expression grim.

‘And on our friend’s neck.’ She said, gesturing to the dead man. ‘I didn’t get a close look at the Soldier, no one has - he covers his face and there’s no way to tell his age or status - but he’s fast. Very fast, and strong. I would say he’s enhanced, except I don’t know how that could be possible.’

‘It couldn’t.’ Steve mused. ‘No one’s ever managed to come close to replicating Erskine’s serum besides Bruce, and the results aren’t exactly inconspicuous. I think we would have noticed by now if there was another Hulk running around.’

‘The Winter Soldier’s not like the Hulk.’ Natasha agreed. ‘He’s…detached. Cold. Didn’t say a word, though his aggression and size made me think he could be A.’ 

‘That doesn’t really prove anything, especially if you couldn’t scent him.’ Steve said, feeling an automatic twinge of annoyance in his chest at the familiar assumption that _big_ automatically equaled _alpha._

‘No it doesn’t.’ Natasha agreed, eyeing him knowingly. ‘It was just a feeling I got at the time, but I only saw him for a few seconds and I was busy getting shot at, so who’s to say I didn’t get a few details wrong?’ 

She almost winced again then before covering it with a tense smile, and if Steve hadn’t been standing so close to her he might have missed it. He realised that Natasha was afraid, despite her attempts at joking, and whatever she had seen in the Soldier had really disturbed her.

‘Why did he shoot you?’ He asked, trying to understand.

‘I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, and he shot out my tires and sent us over a cliff. When I pulled us out of the wreck the Soldier was waiting. I stepped between him and my engineer, so he shot her - straight through me.’ Natasha’s hand went to her side again. ‘Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.’ She smiled bitterly.

‘Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.’ Steve raised a sarcastic eyebrow until she managed a smile. ‘Come on, let’s get everything logged and sent back for analysis.’ He pressed his hand briefly on Natasha’s shoulder for reassurance as they turned away from the body and walked towards where they left the agents hanging around the quinjet. 

‘Steve, I’m serious.’ She said as they walked. ‘If the Winter Soldier is involved, then it won’t end here. Fury’s hiding something, and it must involve the Avengers or SHIELD personally.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because how else could he know what was really inside these trucks?’

She pulled away and walked on to the jet. Steve followed slowly behind, rubbing the sudden gooseflesh from his arms despite the warm day.

*

The soldier stood still and quiet in a corner of the cavernous laboratory as more and more people poured in to swarm like ants around the centre console. The flickering blue and green displays on the dozens of screens around him competed in a symphony with the roaring static in his head.

It took every ounce of the soldier’s training to remain at attention, but his thoughts were constantly interrupted by strange images and voices that swirled out of the depths of his mind like silver fish in a sunless sea.

 _‘Bucky! No!’_

_‘Where have you been?’_

_‘She’s gone, James.’_

_‘Get out of here!’_

_‘You know this tune?’_

_‘Steve, don’t make me say it.’_

The discordant words made no sense, and the soldier was sure he had never travelled to the places that came to him out of the dark. His mission was in snow-capped mountains, dense forest and the Hydra stronghold, which was cold and bare and metal. He didn’t recognise the rich wood and colourful fabrics of the rooms in his mind. The light there was soft and warm, and figures obscured by shadows reached out to him with gentle hands. He felt the phantom sensation of flames tickling at the exposed skin of his neck and suppressed a full-body shiver.

The soldier had no way to ask, but he assumed that these anomalies were because it was too long since he had been conditioned. When his handlers briefed him they stated that the mission would last only a few days, but it had been more than a week and the soldier had been moved ceaselessly from one task to the next, unable to voice his uncertainty or the shaking apart of his insides. 

The soldier knew that he was in many ways a defective thing - and that in order to perform to the best of his ability he needed to submit to regular maintenance and conditioning - but if his handlers needed him to remain in the laboratory in his current state then that is what he must do. There was no option to disobey.

It’s not like the soldier could warn them of the growing problem even if he wanted to. The standard filters in his mask should have been replaced ages ago, but there had been no-one available to see to his maintenance for days, and the soldier could feel the crusting of blood and saliva in his mouth where cruel metal scraped against the delicate flesh of cheeks and tongue.

It had been several hours since the soldier been ordered to stand guard in the lab, but he was used to spending a very long time immobile and ignored the growing cramps in his muscles without effort. He shoved everything away - discomfort, voices, and warmth alike - to focus his slippery consciousness on the activity around him.

Scientists and technicians recognisable by their white coats ran around carrying cables and boxes that they connected to the huge banks of machinery lining the room. All the machines whirred and hummed with activity, and the cables flickered with a strange blue light.

The same light came from the raised table in the middle of the room, which held two strange devices the soldier didn’t understand. One looked to be a sort of spear, but the handle was too short. It was made of a fragile-looking gold metal, and beneath the blade a blue stone glowed with an almost painful intensity. It hurt the soldier to look at it for too long even behind his goggles, so after a few seconds he let his eyes flick to the other object nearby. This was an ugly thing - a rough and jagged tangle of dull grey metals that caged a roiling, pulsating mass of blue at its core. While the light was similar in colour to that from the spear, it felt more sickly somehow - as if the pulsing was the last breaths of something dying, or the energy of something inherently unstable. The soldier didn’t like to look at that light either; it made him nauseous. He quickly turned his attention back to the room and checked on the other occupants.

Half a dozen people were gathered closely around the unsettling objects. They were deep in conversation with each other, ignoring all the frantic activity around them as more and more machines came to life and the light grew steadily brighter.

The soldier didn’t deliberately try to eavesdrop, but he had to remain alert in order to protect Hydra personnel, and his hearing was very good. Their conversation carried over the increasing crackle and hum of electricity, as the tiny hairs on the back of the soldier’s neck and right arm prickled with static.

‘ - truly a momentous day.’ Herr Strucker was saying, as he gestured grandly to the spear and cage device in front of him.

‘Indeed. If this experiment is successful, then the whole world can look forward to a new era of prosperity under Hydra. With this and the upcoming launch of Project Insight, our command of the world’s resources will be complete. There will be no fear, no neglect, no shortages ever again. This was something that could only be dreamed about a hundred years ago and we, ladies and gentlemen, are making it a reality.’

That was Alexander Pierce, the leader of Hydra. The soldier watched Pierce carefully for a moment, checking that he didn’t want to give the soldier further instructions, but Pierce wasn’t paying him any attention so the soldier allowed himself to relax a fraction, continuing his observations. 

A young woman standing next to Pierce caught his eye. She was staring at the soldier, her facial expression jarred him like a language he couldn’t name. When she realised that the soldier was looking back at her she jumped as if caught at something, and clutched at the shoulder of the other man by her side. The soldier noted that neither of the pair looked military, though the very fact that they were allowed in the lab with Pierce meant they must serve Hydra in some capacity like himself. The man stared openly at the soldier too - his grey hair at odds with his youthful face - before they both started whispering furiously to each other in Sokovian as Pierce and Strucker, distracted, barked instructions at the assembled technicians and guards. 

‘Don’t you do anything! Don’t say anything!’ The man hissed, gripping the woman’s forearm tightly and turning her away.

‘But he - his _mind_ is - ‘ She began, risking another quick glance at the soldier.

‘No! You must be quiet!’ The man sounded afraid. 

_This_ feeling, the soldier understood. He knew that a lot of people in Hydra were afraid of his handlers. The soldier had his own distant and fractured memories of fear, but he had learned a long time ago to obey; to focus on his mission - It minimised the pain. 

‘I can’t!’ The woman pleaded quietly, her long dark hair falling forward to hang in her face. ‘It hurts; so much screaming and violence pouring into my head!’

‘You have to! We’re not supposed to know about him, and if they find out we’ve been snooping then we’re both dead! Do you understand?’ The man insisted, tugging her arm harder until she finally nodded and he released her so she could pull away.

Just as they broke apart Pierce and Strucker turned back to continue their conversation, and the group was led across the room by their guards to some folding chairs, arranged as if for a performance.

‘Are you ready for this, Wanda?’ Pierce asked the woman as they sat. ‘By all accounts you have always been the closest to this energy. To witness it performing its true function must be fascinating for you.’

‘Yes, Mr Pierce.’ The woman - Wanda - replied. ‘It has grown so much, even in the past hour. I believe it is almost ready.’

‘That’s wonderful.’ Pierce said, smiling. ‘And you Pietro, how are you finding your time with Hydra?’

‘Well enough Sir.’ Pietro said flatly. ‘Though I would prefer to be out hunting Stark and the other Avengers.’

‘In time.’ Pierce said, looking briefly across to the soldier and then back to Pietro before lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘I’m not really one for all this science stuff myself, but just between us I think your chance will come much sooner than you expect.’

Pietro nodded, and conversations trailed off into an uneasy silence as the technicians made a few final adjustments and withdrew to the edges of the room, looking over to Strucker who waved a hand for them to begin. Someone threw a lever on the wall, and the machine hum increased in pitch until the soldier could feel the vibrations through the soles of his boots and the roots of his back teeth.

An arc of blinding white-blue light struck the centre console and several people cried out in surprise. Thanks to the filter in his goggles the soldier could see the outlines of the crowd of people at the far end of the room thrown into sharp silhouette as they covered their eyes in pain.

‘Is it supposed to do that?’ Pierce was yelling at Strucker, who was in turn shouting across to the technicians in furious German, ordering them to change some settings on the machines.

Wanda and Pietro held each other close and turned their faces away from the glare as the air in the room thickened, and more sparks of power fell from cables and skittered across the floor. The arc light was showing no signs of dimming, and the soldier saw it was beginning to pulse in time with the sickness-glow inside the cage, the shadows rolling and shifting around the room in a horrifying wave.

‘Stop!’ Wanda yelled over the din. ‘Something’s wrong!’

‘Nonsense!’ Strucker snapped back. ‘We’re so close! Just another minute!’

‘She’s right!’ Pierce was shouting too, his aged voice almost hoarse already. ‘It’s dangerous for us to stay in here!’

‘Shut it down!’ Wanda begged. ‘Please, shut it down! I’m afraid.’

‘Do as she says!’ Pierce ordered, even as Pietro pulled Wanda quickly out of the way of Strucker, who moved as if he was going to hit her.

The soldier watched the argument with some trepidation. If it came down to a disagreement between Strucker and Pierce then his loyalties were clear, but he had no idea of the value of Wanda and Pietro in Hydra’s chain of command and so if the pair were at odds with Strucker he couldn’t be sure what actions were permitted. He stood frozen to the spot in the same position he had remained in for the past five hours as all the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling exploded and burning glass and powder fell in a scorching rain. 

‘Turn it off! Now!’ Pierce repeated, stepping between Wanda and Strucker and shaking the other man violently. Strucker put a hand up to his chest in defence but he must have seen the wisdom in obeying orders because he didn’t protest further and the soldier saw his silhouette pick its way quickly across the room. It was only a few seconds before his voice once again carried to the soldier, this time edged with panic.

‘I can’t!’ Strucker called to Pierce. ’The controls have melted - I can’t cut the power!’

‘Then disconnect the artifacts!’ Pierce shouted back, voice cracking at the volume on the last syllable.

‘Soldier!’ Strucker called, and the soldier snapped himself around to attention in an instant, shards of glass falling from his hair. ‘Pull the sceptre from the console! Hurry!’

The soldier nodded to Strucker and turned smoothly into a sprint, glass and metal crunching under his boots as he ran. He could just about make out the outlines of the group of people huddled together amongst the chairs opposite, but the central light was still brightening by the second and the soldier was forced to squint as everything started to blur into an endless landscape of white. As he reached the middle of the room and dived for the spear - the _sceptre _\- he saw Wanda’s wide bright eyes lock onto his face, and he only just had time to register her frantic shout:__

____

__

‘No! Not him!’

Before his metal fingers closed around the shaft of the sceptre and everything exploded. 

As his mind was crushed to a single point and his body drowned in blue fire, the soldier thought he heard a single clear voice whisper in his ear, but once again he didn’t understand the words. 

‘I’m sorry.’ The voice said, sorrow and regret touched through with red.

Then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

You should be so happy  
You should be so glad  
So why are you so lonely  
You 21st century man?

**\- ELO, 21st Century Man**

 

Steve was proud to say that after a couple of years in the future he’d finally settled into a routine, and even become something of an expert at skipping over the details when questioned. They didn’t need to know that the life of the great Captain America was boring at best and downright miserable at its worst.

He woke to the bare walls of his apartment just before dawn - nightmares permitting. He always spent a few extra moments in bed to mentally replay a highlight reel of his poor life choices, before stumbling wearily into the bathroom to take his shots - vitamins, blockers and suppressants; all custom. After he applied a thorough coating of masking solution (with a hint of citrus this week, apparently) over his too-pale and clammy skin, he left his apartment building to run for miles through the city, until the sky lightened and he felt sweat pooling at the nape of his neck and his muscles start to burn with effort. The discomfort sometimes made him feel more present in the moment; more alive. Not always, but sometimes.

When he returned home a couple of hours later he took a very long shower until the bathroom resembled a sauna and he couldn’t find the towels through the steam, and his guilt smacked him in horror at how much hot water he was wasting. Then the more logical parts of his brain would take over and remind him with no small amount of irritation that he no longer lived in a crowded tenement, and he didn’t have obligations or indeed any relationship to speak of with his current neighbours; not in this age of conditional freedoms, disguises, and closed doors. 

He applied yet more masking solution and dressed in an uninspired - and according to Natasha, tragically unfashionable - outfit from the supply of clothes gifted to him by SHIELD, adjusted the cuffs and seams for several minutes until they stopped itching, then raided his kitchen and focused on putting away at least a quarter of his daily calorie requirements with breakfast. Usually this involved supplementing his diet with chalky high-energy smoothies, but it was either that or spend hours a day chomping on pears or shelling pistachios by the kilo, and he hated to spend any more time in his drab apartment than absolutely necessary. 

Warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows only made the emptiness of the space cut deeper, the absence of personal possessions or anyone _other_ simply maddening to his overloaded senses. Steve knew it wasn’t healthy to leave it like this, but deep in the recesses of his mind - beneath the surface layers of anger - he genuinely thought that it was a case of ‘all or nothing', and so instead of putting some art on the walls and buying throws and pillows to provide himself with the cold comfort of having to enjoy it all alone, he simply locked the door and left each day without looking back.

*

_Hasbeans_ wasn’t the closest coffee shop to Steve’s apartment, but he somehow found himself in there most days anyway. It appeared large and modern from the outside, tucked into the base of an office block; but despite the glass and chrome facade, inside it somehow managed to pull off ‘cosy and inviting’, with wood-panelled booths along the sides for privacy and soft chairs arranged around circular tables in the centre where large groups could lounge and take their time over their drinks. Smaller anterooms at the back were separated by status: a common and increasingly essential feature in public spaces that now both employed and served the whole spectrum of the population. 

The strong scents of a variety of coffees mixed in the air, beneath which was a pleasant amount of hot sugar from the baked goods, the faintest hint of cleaning solution and impressions of all the other customers in the room that faded in and out with the coffee, making the environment full and complete in a way that soothed the curled up and grieving part of Steve’s soul. He let the scents settle over him like the world’s softest blanket - warm and familiar - and allowed himself a deep breath before walking to the counter.

The barista, Laurel, smiled and nodded to Steve when he got close. She tucked her long straight hair behind her ears - a nervous habit, he thought - and quietly asked for his order. Steve had been coming here often enough that she remembered his preference, but he knew that she liked to use the ritual conversation as a daily icebreaker with the customers. It was understandable. Steve’s size and assumed alpha status intimidated or aggravated most people on instinct, and there wasn’t much he could do about it except keep his posture as relaxed and neutral as possible, let others take the lead and try to remember not to stand too close. 

Laurel was very experienced in dealing with the caffeine-deprived population of the city, and being omega hadn’t stopped her from taking a supervisory role, or ruthlessly keeping the peace when people stepped out of line. Steve admired her skill and seemingly endless patience, especially since he had witnessed (and confronted) several traditionalists in the past months who took exception to her serving them, and voiced their unwanted opinions on her discreet piercings and tattoos. She took the constant comments and compliments from customers - whether sincere, creepy or downright rude - in stride, and didn’t hesitate to call for security if anyone got too rowdy. Between herself and Lee the manager - a beta so relaxed he was practically horizontal - they kept the atmosphere calm and inviting, though Steve would never allow himself to linger. 

As Laurel walked away to make his usual latte, Steve heard the shop bell and a commotion behind him, and turned to recognise the new arrivals as members of a young pack from his neighbourhood. He ducked his head in the direction of the adults, who nodded back politely and ushered their children to a centre table where they sprawled immediately over the cushions, settling in for a family breakfast. 

While the alphas and betas in the pack debated the merits of macchiato over cappuccino and croissants over crumpets, the small omega in the centre remained apart. She held an excited and squirmy toddler tightly in her lap as in a low voice she coaxed the others to settle, and one by one they calmed to sit on and around her, pressing their faces to her wrists and neck where only the smallest strip of skin was visible at the tight cuffs of her outfit. 

Steve’s jaw clenched as he remembered the feel of that clothing, and how uncomfortable it was rubbing against his glands and sensitive skin. The fact that it was currently very warm and humid weather in DC made it even worse. This wasn’t the first time that he found himself desperate to reach out, to tell another omega that someone cared - _he_ cared about their comfort and their future - but he didn’t even know this woman’s name. He was read as alpha in public, and that meant he couldn’t just introduce himself to a bonded omega, especially if they were from a traditional household. When Steve was growing up in the 20’s and 30’s such a thing was unthinkable, and even now it would be seen at the very least as pushy and aggressive, especially coming from a supposed alpha of his size. 

The visible differences between Laurel and this woman were obvious, but despite the recent changes in the laws Steve was all too aware that many of an omega’s life choices were still dictated by their pack, and if Laurel’s bond partners weren’t supportive she wouldn’t have had any choice but to stay at home and be a full-time parent from a very young age. He never felt more tempted to reveal his true status than in moments like these, but if he did then he would no longer be able to remain Captain America, and it frightened him that he had nothing else to hold on to. If he was a civilian he would be just a freakishly large omega with no bonds and no family, and then what could he do?

Steve realised he had been staring for a few seconds too long at the group and quickly turned his attention back to the counter, finding that Laurel had placed his drink next to him. He reached out to take it, but a strange hand cut in front of him to grip the cup and Steve flinched, whirling to confront whoever had got the drop on him. 

‘Sorry man, I needed some sugar.’ 

A toned alpha guy in sweatpants and a running shirt was standing just behind Steve’s right shoulder, grinning and gesturing with the stolen coffee cup at a bunch of sugar packets dangling between the fingers of his other hand, a bulging bag of pastries tucked under his arm. Steve hadn’t heard him approach, but despite the man’s calm and easy manner he was quick to register Steve’s discomfort, and without flinching smoothly stepped back a couple of feet, out of range for scent introduction. Steve didn’t bother to point out that with his senses such a small distance was pretty redundant, but it was usually difficult to pinpoint individual scents in such a busy indoor environment, and people wouldn’t pick up on a lot besides the dizzying mixture of strong coffees unless they were standing very close. 

Laurel noticed the confusion and quickly passed Steve his own latte with a murmured apology, which Steve accepted with thanks and a smile before addressing the self-confessed sugar addict. Steve already knew the guy - sort of. Ever since he’d moved into his current apartment they saw each other several times a week on their morning runs, but his accidental companion always kept to the main paths and Steve often left him behind. Over time he had become part enough of Steve’s routine that they even exchanged polite nods if they were passing in opposite directions.

When Steve lowered his eyes for a second in acknowledgement and acceptance of the apology, the man grinned and took a confident step closer, bringing with him the sharp and pleasant scent of freshly mown grass, muting but not entirely disguising the remnants of a veritable menu of fried food lingering alongside his smoky sweat. He wasn’t using any masking solution, and the unexpected flood of information and break from routine bypassed Steve’s brain-mouth filter entirely, leaving him to comment without thinking:

‘Another breakfast already?’

It was a pretty rude thing to say and Steve wanted to shove the words back down his throat as soon as they skipped out, but the guy just smiled wider, apparently not bothered in the least by Steve’s heavily masked scent and clumsy breach of etiquette. Relief washed over Steve in a gentle wave, and he found that some of the tension in his body released, like opening a door and walking out into the sunlight after months chained in darkness.

‘You noticed that?’ The guy asked. He had a pleasant gap in his teeth that showed whenever he smiled, which was often. ‘Damn, and I was hoping the run would get rid of it along with the cobwebs. Guess it’s not my lucky day.’

He gestured airily around his head and gave an exaggerated jaw-cracking yawn, before pulling the lid off his coffee cup and adding an impressive amount of sugar with quick practiced motions.

Steve found himself laughing in spite of himself. He _liked_ this man. He was friendly and easy to talk to. It had been such a long time since he felt he could have a casual conversation with someone, when they didn’t see him as anything more than Captain America - a symbol, a trophy, or a threat.

‘I see you on the boulevard most days.’ Steve said. ‘That’s what you want to call running?’

‘Oh so that’s how it is?’ The guy raised an eyebrow in mock-outrage.

‘That’s how it is.’ 

Steve folded his arms to double down on the false posturing but the guy just grinned back without hesitation, his brown eyes wrinkling with amusement. He held the look for a couple of seconds then turned his head away with a laugh, conceding the point before offering his hand with easy grace.

‘Sam Wilson.’ 

Steve clasped the hand firmly. Since they had been exercising alone neither of them were wearing gloves, and he could feel the edges of Sam’s scent glands as they held the contact briefly and Sam ghosted his own fingertips along Steve’s wrists.

‘Steve Rogers.’

‘Yeah I got that, what with the crazy senses and the fact that you can run over 30 miles in 30 minutes, if this morning was anything to go by.’

Steve shrugged. He knew any attempts at a disguise were pointless, so he’d never made any secret of who he was - just _what_ he was. It was a given that the topic would come up sooner or later, but Sam wasn’t acting like he wanted anything from Steve, so despite his confusion he found himself being unusually trusting and gave an honest response:

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Hey man, I’ve been there.’ Sam said with a knowing nod. ‘We’ve all got baggage. I like to think I’m down to a man-purse these days, but then I’m up running at four AM, so…’

Sam trailed off with a shrug, and turned to walk away. Steve realised that Sam thought he might have overstepped with his observations, so he blurted out:

‘Where did you serve?

Sam stopped his retreat in surprise, and came back to stand close to Steve, his coffee curling steam between them as he said in a low voice:

‘Pararescue. Two tours. Came back from the desert and gun oil to this, y’know? It’s hard to get used to. Plus, my bed is too damned soft.’

‘Like sleeping on a marshmallow. I feel like I’m gonna sink into the floor.’ Steve agreed, wincing at the memory.

Sam nodded, grim understanding in his gaze; his earlier joking quietly set aside.

‘Hey man,’ He said. ‘I work down at the VA, helping some of the others who’ve come back to adjust. We could all use someone to talk to sometimes - someone who’s been in your shoes and can even just listen. No pressure.’ He smiled again to take some of the weight from his words and gestured to Steve ‘And if you ever want to swing by and make me look awesome to the crew on the front desk, let me know, okay?

‘Sure Sam,’ Steve said. ‘And maybe I’ll let you catch up on a run - one day.’ 

‘Don’t slow those prime legs for me, Cap. You do your thing, and I’ll be waiting at the end with coffee and a second breakfast.’

It was a kind and casual offer, easily deflected, and Steve even found himself considering it for a second before fear twisted his gut and the warmth he felt towards Sam ran suddenly cold. He couldn’t get close to anyone, and it was beyond stupid for him to even consider it. Nobody outside of the highest levels of security in SHIELD was aware of his true status, and while he could perhaps enjoy Sam’s company on occasion and reminisce about their times in the armed forces, it just wasn’t the same. It felt like lying, and Steve didn’t want to be fake to someone who seemed so open and genuine in return. He knew it would only sit like a lead weight on his conscience, along with everything else he beat himself up with on a daily basis.

Before he could come up with a polite non-committal response, a loud high-pitched beep and prolonged vibration from his pocket cut the conversation short. Steve fished out his phone and unlocked it with a fingerprint to read the short message from Natasha.

**N: Brentwood. 12th St NW. WS inv. Bring gear!**

‘Sorry Sam, duty calls.’ Steve said, trying to keep his tone light while his heart kicked into overdrive and pounded in his chest.

‘Sure, of course.’ Sam said easily, stepping back with a nod and a smile.

Steve shoved the phone back in his pocket and after a murmured apology waved quickly in farewell to Sam, before rushing out of the shop and breaking into a run as soon as the place was out of sight.

*

When they returned to debrief after the mess in Austria, Natasha had questioned Fury as much as she dared on SHIELD’s connection to the weapons transport, with no success. The man was as inscrutable and secretive as ever. The contents of the trucks were never found, and while they were able to confirm that the man on the mountainside and a few others had been killed with a level of force that suggested someone enhanced was responsible, all leads had quickly dried up. They had no further information on the Winter Soldier or who he was currently working for, and no details had come to light on where the technology to create another enhanced individual might have originated. 

Natasha had tried to follow the leads inside SHIELD but quickly came up against a brick wall, so to avoid revealing the extent of their suspicions they had instead focused on the history of the Soldier and began tracking his movements. It had proven much more difficult than they expected - he was rarely spotted, and a lot of those sightings could easily be discounted as rumour and hyperbole. Only a few leads had panned out, but the Soldier never left any evidence behind, and vanished like smoke as soon as the job was done. ‘Ghost' was certainly a fitting description for a man who could appear without warning at any location in the world and end someone’s life in an instant, disappearing without a trace.

Natasha and Steve had quietly revealed the situation to the other Avengers, trying to keep their clandestine investigation as far from Fury as possible. Tony obsessively scoured electronic records late into the night for traces of experimental weapons, Bruce started to look into scientific developments and research relating to the super-soldier serum, and Thor when he visited gave them a communicator to reach Asgard and promised his aid and discretion - in his usual booming way. Clint in particular turned out to be a huge help in narrowing the search for the Soldier. As one of the worlds greatest marksmen he was able to label many of the man’s rumoured kills as amateur or the work of specific individuals, and instead point them in the direction of the outliers - the impossible shots and scenarios that suggested someone of the Winter Soldier’s unnatural skill. 

They found that the Soldier had focused mainly on operations in Europe for several years, which meant he was ideally placed to interfere with the weapons transport in Austria. It didn’t however go on to explain potential recent incidents in China and South America, or any pattern to his targets that could be traced back to a central source. If he was freelance that would make finding him all the harder, but his seemingly vast access to resources pointed to someone else pulling the strings behind the scenes. Natasha had said that at one time the Soldier was rumoured to be in the employ of the Soviets, but that was a long time ago and he dropped off the radar soon after.

Steve’s mind raced as he hurried through the rooms of his apartment, unlocked the wall safe and went through the automatic motions of pulling on his suit. If the Soldier was in DC then the obvious targets were SHIELD or even Steve himself, and with the Soldier’s rumoured skill set and potential enhancements they couldn’t afford to take any chances. Natasha hadn’t given him any details in her text, but her insistence on suiting up meant that she expected dangerous hostiles, if not the Soldier himself to be present at the site.

Just before he left, Steve checked over his uniform and tightened the straps of the shield before adding a couple of Natasha’s stun grenades to his belt. He hesitated for a brief moment, thinking, before tucking a slim utility knife into his right boot. What kind of man was the Soldier? How would he fight? A man with no identity except a blood-soaked reputation built upon a pile of bodies. A man who was everywhere but returned to nowhere. Steve took one last look in the mirror, clenched his jaw and ran for the door. As he reached his bike and started the engine, he mentally steeled himself against the events to come. If the Soldier attacked, they would be ready.

*

Steve caught up to Natasha on the roof of a small apartment complex. He pushed through the discreet cordon of vehicles posing as a gas works company, but the SHIELD agents quickly recognised him and flowed out of the way, allowing him to pass without the customary interrogation. 

When he reached the roof he immediately caught sight of Natasha flattened behind a decorative cornerstone, a finger pressed to the comm in her ear as she murmured instructions.

‘Check the perimeter is clear to the west, there’s a potential exit to Hamlyn.’

Steve kept low and crouched at her side behind the thick concrete, keeping his body hidden from the street below. They were the only ones up here, but he knew the other teams of agents would be spreading out to the surrounding buildings and quietly evacuating civilians from the area, the excuse varying from ‘gas leak’ and ‘escaped leopard’ all the way up to ‘terrorist incident’ depending on the levels of resistance and stubbornness from the general population.

‘What have we got?’ He asked quietly once she fell silent.

‘Someone reported seeing a large man of unknown status hanging around this area for the past two days.’ Natasha said quietly, her eyes never leaving the buildings opposite. ‘At first they thought he was simply homeless, but he’s wearing non-standard military gear and is almost certainly armed. He keeps his face covered and avoids most of the cameras so we can’t get an ID, and his behaviour so far is very unpredictable. Although a couple of people got close enough to scent him, they said he’s very sick or there’s something else wrong with him - enough to spook them badly - and they couldn’t figure out his status.’

She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘A few residents found him again yesterday, this time on a rooftop - covered in blood. When they called out to him he panicked, and dove straight over the side of the building. They noticed something on his left arm was ‘shiny’ under all the blood.’

‘What happened?’ Steve asked, his heart sinking.

‘When they looked over the edge a few seconds later, the man - the Soldier - was gone, shiny arm and all.’ Natasha said grimly. ‘We think - we hope - the blood source was an animal, or possibly a bird. The residents mentioned that the flocks of pigeons that live in this area have been behaving strangely in the last few days - scattering suddenly, and roosting on different buildings than usual. The blood scent the investigators detected on the rooftop wasn’t human, but there wasn’t much left of the source to look at so we’re doing some tests of the remains. There were other signs of violence up there too, as if someone took a hammer to the walls.’

‘Or a metal fist.’

‘Exactly.’ Natasha said. ‘But now there’s another problem. The locals are pretty sure he’s still around, and our agents agree - his strange scent hasn’t gone from the area entirely though it’s harder to trace - but no one’s tried to look for him again, and I don’t blame them - by all accounts his scent is unsettling enough on its own even before anyone caught sight of him out in the open. We don’t know what his game is - or if he’s even pursuing a target - but with the aid of Tony’s satellite recon we’ve narrowed down his location to somewhere in that building.’

Natasha gestured to a dark four-storey apartment building about a hundred yards down the street from their hiding place. 

‘It’s mostly abandoned.’ She said. ‘It was sold to a developer a couple of years ago and the residents have slowly been bought out, but a few elderly packs are hanging on - it’s the only home they’ve ever known.’

Steve nodded in sympathy. He knew the resident’s fears only too well, and no compensation could prepare someone for the trauma of being denied access to what little remained of their past.

‘Clint’s north-west of here.’ Natasha said. ‘He doesn’t have any clear sight lines into the building itself - which might be why the Soldier chose it - but he can cover three of the most likely escape routes, and Tony has his eyes in the sky watching the neighbourhood as best he can. There’s been no movement for the last six hours.’

Steve sighed heavily, resting his head against the cool concrete wall.

‘Okay.’ He said, ‘So, we’ve got a souped-up soldier-slash-assassin who by all accounts is confused, violent and likely to pulverise anyone or anything that comes close. We don’t know his next target or even who he’s working for, and we still can’t tell Fury anything because he’s hiding something to do with this whole mess and it doesn’t look good for SHIELD - so instead we have me, you and Clint in a powder keg of a situation in the middle of a densely populated neighbourhood of innocent civilians.’ He put a hand to his face, rubbing a finger and thumb across his closed eyes. ‘Just great…’

‘Pessimism doesn’t suit you, Steve.’ Natasha said with a wry smile. ‘We’ve been in much tighter spots before. The Soldier may be very skilled but he’s alone and outnumbered, and we’re going in prepared. The surrounding blocks are clear; we can bring him in or put him down.’

‘Why didn’t you ask Bruce or Tony to come along?’ Steve said. ‘If the Winter Soldier is as dangerous as our evidence suggests then we’re gonna need all the help we can get, and isn’t Clint vulnerable out there by himself?’

‘Bruce said it was too dangerous for the Other Guy to show up in the middle of the city, especially with someone like the Soldier who is not known to surrender or go down easily if at all.’ Natasha said. ‘Besides, since Fury doesn’t know about this little operation, having Tony and the Hulk charging about and making a light show worthy of Vegas would certainly make it difficult to explain away when it ends up all over the news. As for Clint - he’s aware of the risks. He can handle himself.’

‘Fine, I get your point.’ Steve said. ‘I’m just concerned. We don’t know the first thing about this guy except that he’s probably enhanced - which makes him dangerous enough - and he has the kind of skills and support to remain hidden for decades while he commits countless assassinations. We can’t afford to underestimate him. He’s let himself be seen in public on several occasions in the last few days - that’s sloppy. He should be invisible until the very last moment. People said he smells of sickness, but does he even _look_ sick? This doesn’t match with what little we’ve learned about him so far.’

‘It could be a ruse.’ Natasha said. ‘Perhaps he’s hoping that if he appears vulnerable we’ll let our guard down and bring less resources.’

‘We’ll we’ve certainly brought a few less resources but I wouldn’t say we’ve let our guard down.’ Steve said. ‘Of course we could be reading too much into it and there really _is_ something wrong with him. Maybe he ran into trouble on another op?’

‘Unlikely, but possible.’ Natasha replied, shifting position slightly as she scanned the area. ‘You remember that factory explosion about fifty miles west of DC four days ago? Apparently SHIELD received unsubstantiated intel last year that the factory was a front. Fury sent a team to check it out, and a second not long after the explosion - it was mostly automated, so no casualties - and it was large and boring beforehand and basically a crater afterwards. The agents came back empty-handed but said in their report that the level of destruction from the explosion was inconsistent with the details of the materials and chemicals stored in the facility. Last I heard they were still arguing about whether to look into it further, but JARVIS flagged both reports and sent them to Tony anyway. Tony couldn't find any connections at first, but asked JARVIS to monitor the area around the factory anyway - and here we are. Just a few days later, and it seems that against all odds we’ve found our Soldier.

‘You think the Soldier is responsible for the explosion?’ Steve asked.

‘I don’t believe in these kinds of coincidences. It would make a lot of sense if that was the Soldier’s previous mission, though we don’t know why the factory was targeted.’ Natasha said. ‘He’s now either working towards something else in DC, or waiting for extraction by his employers. It doesn’t explain his erratic behaviour though. From his reputation and what little I remember - the Soldier is cold and efficient, not unstable.’ Natasha frowned a little, pursing her lips. ‘It worries me.’

‘Me too.’ Steve agreed, ‘None of this adds up, but we have to make a move. Now. If he’s in that building, then the longer we wait the more likely he is to move on his next target or escape, and if he’s as good as you say then he’ll probably know we’re here very soon if he doesn’t already.’

‘Right then.’ Natasha said, looking around and scenting the air one last time before raising a hand to her ear. ‘Hawkeye? Cap and I will engage. Stealth and cover only. Maintain the perimeter.’

‘Copy that.’ Clint’s voice came clear into Steve’s comm, measured and calm.

‘All agents stand by. Cap and Widow closing on target.’ Steve said, and waited a few seconds for their allies to chime in with acknowledgements before he took a deep breath and braced his hands against the ground in a crouch, preparing to run.

‘Let’s move.’ Steve said to Natasha, and they both dashed for the edge of the roof as one.


	3. Chapter 3

A man walks down the street  
It's a street in a strange world  
Maybe it's the Third World  
Maybe it's his first time around

He doesn't speak the language  
He holds no currency  
He is a foreign man  
He is surrounded by the sound

The sound

**\- Paul Simon, You Can Call Me Al**

 

The soldier woke to a crushing weight on his chest and ashes in his mouth. A jagged concrete slab pinned him to the ground, and as he tried to shift position he felt something give and shift in the unknown spaces above. Operating purely on instinct he pulled his limbs tight to his body and rolled to the side, ignoring a flash of agony from his left leg as a cascade of rock and metal struck the small hollow where he was lying just a second before. 

He struggled to stand, and as the dust settled and he got to his feet he could see that he was in the remains of a ruined building, the twisted metal and debris not giving many clues as to its original purpose. Small scattered fires still burned in the distance, but there were few external walls remaining and much of the rubble had settled in the centre of the ruin, leaving the perimeter relatively empty. The soldier noted absently that if he had been in a more central location he would have most likely been killed by the full weight of multiple building floors collapsing on top of him. As it was, his injuries included a break in his left femur, probable concussion and mild to moderate dehydration. He was bleeding from over a dozen minor lacerations, but along with the bruises littering his torso they would heal within hours and were therefore irrelevant. 

The soldier decided to retreat to a secure location and wait for extraction by the closest Hydra operatives. He had no orders, and he needed maintenance and conditioning if he was to be in peak condition for further assignments - 

_\- The sceptre._

The memories came to him in a flood that left him gasping through his mask. The laboratory - Pierce, Strucker, the sceptre with its awful light, and the woman with secrets behind her eyes who looked at him with - what was it? The soldier’s gut lurched. He was... uncomfortable.

The soldier clearly remembered reaching for the sceptre just before an explosion of light and pain, but if it was now buried in the pile of rubble then there was no way to locate it without the possibility of further injury or death. The soldier was a valuable tool, and he was forbidden from damaging himself or risking his own safety without a direct order.

His head hurt and his thoughts threatened to drift away from him, but he forced himself back to the present and his current objectives. Stumbling a little on the uneven ground, he picked his way across the devastation until he could duck under a beam and reach the exterior of the building, blinking in muted surprise as he focused on the landscape that came into view. The lenses of his goggles were cracked and he cast them aside, but the improvement this made to his vision couldn't help his growing confusion.

Nothing was familiar. Beyond the dusty remains of a parking lot the land was empty, and too flat; the soldier didn’t recognise the sparse trees in the distance as those surrounding the Hydra stronghold in Austria. 

Had there been an attack? Was the soldier transported here? But then, what was the cause of this destruction? Where were his handlers? And what of the sceptre - 

Pain lanced between his eyes, and he saw red before his mind was flooded with voices and images, almost too fast for him to follow:

_‘You never told me you didn’t like it.’_

_‘Bucky, I can’t do this._

_’Why didn’t you tell me?’_

_‘I’m sorry.’_

_‘Give it back! You motherfuckers give it back right now!’_

He staggered, his bad leg giving way so that he almost fell to his knees; he thrust his metal hand into a broken wall to steady himself, concrete crumbling around his fingertips as he held on and waited for the pain and nausea to recede to a dull throb at the base of his skull. He couldn’t linger. He was injured - _compromised._ He needed to report back to his handlers immediately. They would surely realise he needed maintenance and reconditioning. 

Almost a week had passed since the soldier was first briefed and given essential maintenance. He wouldn’t be able to function much longer without adequate hydration, and though he didn’t remember the details, he knew that only Hydra could quiet the storm slowly building in his mind. The voices, errant thoughts and pain in his head were all signs he was unfit for duty. He didn’t know what to make of the unwelcome _scents,_ solvents he couldn’t name, a food unlike any he had seen in the Hydra base that made his stomach skip and growl, and something sharp, fresh and spicy that made him for some reason think of bright blonde hair and huge blue eyes. He didn’t understand it, or have any explanation beyond _wrongness_ for the strange impressions of fire, soft glowing light and distant sounds rattling around in his brain like a bag of shrapnel. 

Gritting his teeth, he thumped his broken leg with his flesh hand, wincing when the pain stabbed straight up into his gut but noting with a perverse satisfaction that the bone didn’t shift or grind too much. It was functional. He used some of his harness straps to create a makeshift brace - half his weapons were missing or destroyed, but he still had two pistols and several knives - and wrapped his leg as securely as he could. It would heal beyond needing the support within a day, but in the meantime it was a weakness, and without Hydra staff and extra supplies there was only so much maintenance he could perform himself. He gingerly brought a hand up to the blood-encrusted mask around his mouth and nose, keeping trembling fingers as far away as possible from the locking mechanism at the back of his neck. His breath hitched, the metal in his mouth suddenly shocking and raw as his throat muscles spasmed. Tearing his hand away, he doubled over and clenched his hands into fists until the retching passed.

It wasn’t _permitted._

Follow orders, and survive until extraction. That was his current mission, and his only focus. He was sure he’d endured worse conditions before - there were echoes of pain and discomfort, but no details or memories. It didn’t matter. Perhaps this was a test of his loyalty? Something inside the soldier resonated with the thought, and he guessed that this wouldn’t be the first time. If he deviated from his standing orders it would count as failure, and he would be punished. The soldier usually found no difficulty in obedience, but looking out at the vast countryside he felt the sudden urge to tear his mask off and _breathe,_ to remove his weapons and uniform and lie in the cool grass to soothe his aching head. 

He didn’t do any of those things.

First, he had to find a map or landmarks to establish his exact location. Picking an arbitrary direction, he set off at a measured pace towards the nearest power lines, unaware of the crescent gouges in his cheeks slowly trickling blood, anxious nails digging at the edges of the mask; a betrayal of secret frustrations and fear.

*

Despite making some progress in the previous 24 hours, the soldier’s strength was rapidly fading. He’d quickly established his location as the United States and arrived in DC - the nearest city - before sunset, but he was unable to contact any Hydra cells in the usual way. Standard communication channels were unresponsive, and in his vulnerable state he couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to himself with a more heavy-handed approach. He had to preserve Hydra’s secrecy and wait for extraction, so he hid on rooftops and in abandoned buildings, never staying in a location for more than a couple of hours. Hydra had ways of tracking their asset’s movements, and lack of maintenance was causing him to be careless and to make mistakes.

They would come for him, eventually.

The stolen car he abandoned in the suburbs when it ran out of gas, and though he’d acquired a basic disguise from a clothesline he still unfortunately attracted a lot of attention when on the streets. The ratty grey sweater was too small and tore in several places when he attempted to put it on, but the bulk of it served at least to hide his arm, some of his weapons and the more obvious parts of his body armour. He also stole a baseball cap and a long black towel, which he wrapped around his mouth and nose to cover the mask. It was warm in the city and the extra fabric made it difficult for him to breathe at times, but he couldn’t remove the mask, and he knew that besides covering his distinctive limb it was important that he blend in. Civilians would only ask awkward questions, and he didn’t want to have to kill them.

So far no civilians had spoken to him directly. In fact, most had fled at the sight of him, or at least given him a very wide berth. He first assumed it was because of his size and dirty, bloodstained clothing, but even those who saw him and approached with confidence as if to talk seemed to change their minds and back away when they got close, as if something in him forced them to reconsider in turn. He knew his weapons were well-hidden, so their unanimous rejection made no sense to his increasingly jumbled thoughts. 

Hydra agents feared him, so perhaps these people were afraid for the same reasons? Part of the soldier thought this to be very unlikely, since the general populace didn’t even know who he was, or that he worked for Hydra. He was a ghost story; a nightmare. When on a standard mission he moved through crowds seamlessly, his disguises perfect and his steps silent.

A group of young adults pulled their children out of his path as he drew closer on the sidewalk, their faces twisting into something like disgust before switching over to the old standby of plain fear. They kept him in sight over their shoulders, eyes wide in alarm as they herded the smaller ones away down a side street, and the soldier stopped in his tracks to watch them go, once again bemused.

There was something… _off_ about this place. The buildings, the clothes, the people…they weren’t what he expected.

What _did_ he expect?

It was common for the soldier to recall information on various topics without any corresponding memories to accompany them or provide context to his knowledge. Despite the confusion, navigating his shattered mind for scraps of useful intelligence was a lot more familiar and comforting than the disorienting voices and images that sometimes popped into his head without any explanation as to how they got there - now with increasing and worrying frequency. 

Despite the relief he felt when his intrusive voices chose to be silent on this particular subject, the encounters in the street still knocked something inside the soldier off balance. This city and its people were strange to him; he _knew_ this, but he had nothing at all in his head to explain _why._

His head drooped as he thought, vision blurring for a second with the effort of keeping his traitorous body moving. He had to find shelter again soon; basic functions were now severely compromised and he might lose consciousness at any time. This was unacceptable.

Blinking away the grey that was slowly creeping in at the corners of his eyes, he straightened and turned to go back deeper into the neighbourhood when a large billboard caught his attention. Most of the advertising in the city was placed where people could gather around it at ground level, but this poster was higher on the side of a building and looked old, the edges curling and wrinkling due to water damage.

It wasn’t the placement or size of the thing that made the soldier stop to look, but rather the subject. A tall and dangerous-looking man loomed in the centre of the poster, his blond hair shining within a halo of golden light. One gloved hand beckoned invitingly, while the other was curled around a strange round shield with a target painted on the front. Bold words stated ‘Come and discover Captain America: A soldier in his prime! An exhibit telling the story of the Captain and his Howling Commandos is currently at the Smithsonian Institution, DC.’

Captain America…

_‘What?’_

Something wrenched his insides, and the soldier took a hesitant step forward, body tense, his own trembling hand reaching out to the man on the poster as if for an impossible handshake. He couldn’t speak aloud, but his voice echoed inside the fragile confines of his mind:

‘I _know_ him.’

*

The soldier’s muscles were weakening, limbs starting to shake as his body gradually shut down; soon it would be too late. All his instincts were screaming that he couldn’t fail in his duty to Hydra, but he had to assume that if they wanted to find him, they would have succeeded some time ago. He had no orders; no objective to complete. They wanted him to remain undiscovered, and he would eventually die.

Okay, then. It wouldn’t be much longer.

Hours earlier, he’d jolted awake from confusing visions of blood and screams to more of the same, a scene of destruction and a group of terrified-looking people crying and clutching at each other on the other side of his rooftop hideout. In his blurry and half-conscious state he hadn’t had time to read the situation or formulate a plan before his training took over and demanded he _move,_ so he dove for cover, dropping to street level and weaving among the buildings until he could climb back inside and find a dark corner to curl up in. 

Now he wasn’t sure he could run again even if he wanted to. His clothes were drenched in blood, and he couldn’t remember anything that explained them getting that way. The soldier did not find this in itself unusual, but this time it made him… uneasy. He faintly hoped that civilians hadn’t gotten caught in the crossfire. They weren’t really a threat to himself or Hydra, and it was always a risk to kill outside of mission objectives. 

Faint sounds echoed up through the apartment stairwell, getting closer. People approaching his hiding place that were trained to move as quietly as possible, but the soldier heard them all the same. It made little difference. He no longer had the strength to defend himself, and it was a struggle to even lift his head. 

He used both arms to push himself into an unsteady crouch, heavy-lidded eyes dragging themselves open to focus on the narrow, battered door opposite. A single knife shook between his fingers, more a habit than anything useful. The soldier still had a mind to obey above all else, and if the approaching operatives were Hydra, they would be angry that he had taken no measures to resist capture from a potential enemy. Barely conscious, his mind still cringed like a kicked dog at the thought of failure. 

He forced his fingers to grip the knife tighter, and waited as he heard the shuffling, creaking sounds approach the outer rooms of the apartment. He couldn’t hear the whine of Hydra tech, or their usual heavy-booted tread. Hydra liked to hide in plain sight, and didn't need to be invisible when deception served them just as well. They wouldn’t be hesitant in reclaiming the soldier; he was being stalked by enemy forces.

The soldier deliberately bit down on the sharp metal in his mouth, blood and adrenaline flooding his system in one last gasp as he shoved himself to his feet, holding onto the wall with his left hand for balance just as the door burst open and two figures filled the doorway.

One, a slender woman, pointed two pistols at his head with professional accuracy. Her face was pinched and pale, but her eyes and hands remained steady. The other was a much larger man, and in his right hand - 

In his hand - 

_‘Steve?’_

_‘Bucky? Oh my god.’_

_‘It’s different now.’_

_‘You don’t understand -’_

_‘I can’t -’_

_‘I -’_

The tall, fair man with the target on his shield stepped forward, shield raised to cover himself and the woman at his back. He didn’t aim a weapon, and didn’t make any move to attack. Instead, he made a quick hand signal to the woman and she stepped nimbly to the side, going to a corner of the small room where she kept her guns trained on the soldier. He looked between the two, eyes flickering with effort. He had to fight, to resist. He had to -

‘Now look,’ the man with the shield was saying, ‘We don’t want a fight here. We know who you are, and you’re obviously sick. Just come with us quietly, and no one’s gonna get hurt.’

The soldier couldn't reply, but in his fuzzy thoughts as he fought with his trembling legs to stay upright, he found himself getting…frustrated? Someone was _always_ hurt. That was just how things were. He hurt someone, then Hydra hurt him in turn. He would hunt and kill, and then return for maintenance and punishment. There was no room in his cold, confined existence for pleasure or peace. The man with the shield was _wrong._

But - 

The poster. This man was the same man that he’d seen on the poster. What did it say?

Captain America.

_‘Steve?’_

He was - 

It - 

The soldier’s head hurt. He crushed his eyes shut for a second, then with effort pulled them immediately open again, a shock running down his spine and freezing his insides at the show of vulnerability. He couldn’t take his eyes off the enemy! It was unacceptable.

The man hadn't moved from his position in the doorway, and looked just as nervous and hesitant as his partner. His face was pale and waxy, a sheen of sweat on his otherwise unblemished skin. The woman’s aggressive stance didn’t waver, but her eyes flicked across to the man - Captain America? - and they exchanged a look.

‘You’re really sick.’ the Captain said again, turning his gaze back to the soldier. ‘Please, just surrender. I promise you’ll be treated fairly, and we’ll get you medical attention.’

The Captain took a hesitant step forward, and the soldier instinctively flinched, his left arm moving to cover his torso and the one with the knife drawing up defensively as he sagged back against the wall, letting it take most of his weight as he prepared to use the last of his reserves.

‘No! _Please._ You’ll only get yourself and other people killed. If you come quietly, there’s no need for us to hurt you. Please, drop the knife.’

The Captain moved with exaggerated slowness as he spoke, telegraphing his movements as he carefully slid the shield from his arm and attached it to a harness on his back. The woman made a small frustrated sound, but didn't move. The soldier looked on in confusion, his hands still frozen protectively across his body. What was this man _doing?_ Besides a couple of what looked like stun grenades - which were useless in such a small space - the Captain didn’t have any weapons that posed a threat, and the strange shield was his only means of protection. From his build and body language it was obvious that this Captain was an experienced combatant, so why was he behaving like a complete idiot?

The soldier fought the urge to shake his head in frustration. This man, the Captain - _the idiot_ \- he was on the poster. 

He was also in the soldier’s head. 

The voices were back, and they buzzed and whined inside his skull. They showed him lights, and sounds and smells he had never experienced. They said - 

They said -

**_‘I know him.’_ **

The Captain slowly reached out his right hand for the knife, and the soldier’s fingers opened of their own accord, the blade clattering to the floor. His hand shook as he inched it forward, the Captain drifting in and out of a haze as his vision finally surrendered to the inevitable. 

The Captain was surrounded by light streaming through the open door. He beckoned to the soldier from a poster, a cold, dark ravine, a wall of fire. His face shimmered and changed, now smaller and younger, but his face and eyes remained the same. The soldier reached out, and in his head - in a life that wasn’t his own - _Captain America_ turned to him with a grin, and he heard the echoes of joyous laughter. His knees buckled, and he had the faintest impression of warmth before everything bled into grey, then black.


End file.
